


So Long, Lonesome

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: & just straight-up character death bye bye peter, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Archivist!Sasha, F/M, Lonely!Tim, Mentioned Character Death, and she has a gun oh boy!, mag158 & mag159, references to mag162 tho, the power of love i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23621293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “It’s odd, really,” Peter murmurs. Sasha almost feels like his voice is following her, through the infinite fog. “You each think you’re so focused on the other, but how much do you really know each other now? You’re not the person you used to be, Archivist. Elias changed you. And Tim…” A sigh drifts over her. “You can’t blame me entirely for that. How much time have you spent with him, really, after they found Gertrude’s body in the tunnels? And after you all discovered your dear friend Martin has been dead, this whole time? How do you know Tim is the person he used to be?”(Sasha dives headfirst into the Lonely to save the person shethinksknows she loves.)
Relationships: Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 70





	So Long, Lonesome

Something is happening down in the tunnels. 

_ “Not  _ new friends?” the Not-Them sing-songs over the sound of gunshots. Peering from behind Daisy, Sasha can spot Julia with a maniacal grin on her face, as Trevor sneers and cocks his shotgun beside her. “Even better!”

“What the hell is that thing?” Daisy hisses. She’s tense, like she’s ready to leap into action at any moment. Besides her, Basira has her gun trained on the Not-Them, finger on the trigger.

Sasha swallows, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. “Martin,” she says, but it feels wrong saying it. She takes a deep breath. “T-that’s the thing that replaced him. It was trapped in the tunnels but i-it must’ve been freed. By…”

Peter Lukas. And Tim is with him, down in the tunnels. Something is happening. And Sasha needs to find him. 

“If he’s down there with Peter, or Elias…” Basira’s eyes harden. “Damnit, we need to get down there.”

The Hunters’ voices, loud and mocking, echo in the distance as Sasha lets out a shuddery exhale.  _ Tim. _ Leaving the tape and the statement for her, as a clue or a cry for help after months of stilted silence. The words still play over and over again, in her head:

_ If all goes well, you won’t be coming back. _

_ I know.  _

_ And how does that make you feel, Tim? _

_...nothing. Nothing at all. _

God. Sasha has to find him as soon as possible. The Not-Them is a distraction, that much is clear. And the Hunters aren’t making the situation any better. 

“We need to get rid of them,” Sasha says, fear seizing in her chest as gunshots continue to ring. “They’ll follow us—”

“Goddamnit,” Basira swears. She whirls around to face her, sudden. “You remember how to fire a gun?”

“What? Yeah, but—” Basira had given her a few lessons since Jon died; maybe it wouldn’t have helped back then, in the Unknowing, but it definitely could in the future. “But I’m not that—”

Basira shoves the gun into her hands. “Then go. We’ll keep them busy.” 

Sasha fumbles with it, stunned, and stares at her incredulously. “What? Don’t you need it more?”

Basira takes out another gun from her belt and offers her a grim, thin-lipped smile. “That’s Daisy’s gun. It never hurts to be overprepared. Now  _ go. _ Find Tim.” 

“But—” Sasha protests, except Basira is already turning back towards Daisy, and the look they exchange, heavy with meaning, makes the rest of the words die in her throat.

Sasha grips the gun in her hands, the weight still unfamiliar, and takes a few unsteady steps back. The Not-Them, all stretched-out limbs and wrong angles, turns to them with a smiling face that feels like Martin, but isn’t. 

_ “Saaasha,” _ it croons, taking a few lumbering steps forward. “You can’t hide forever, Sasha.”

_ “Go,”  _ Basira snaps over her shoulder, and Sasha finally breaks into a run. 

She doesn’t look back as she stumbles to the trapdoor to the tunnels, unlocking it with shaking hands. Her minds races, thoughts tripping desperately over each other— _ Daisy and Basira—will they be okay—what if Elias is down there—and Tim— _

Shit.  _ Tim.  _ Her heart shudders in her chest, worry clawing at her throat. Tim has been involved with this for months, something big enough that Elias broke out of prison to be there for it. He might be in danger. 

She can’t lose him. She will  _ not _ lose him. 

She hasn’t been down in the tunnels for a while, and she’s not exactly thrilled to be back in the dark, damp corridors. She doesn’t even have a torch with her, but she can sense a pull, from the back of her skull, reeling her forward towards... _ something. _ She doesn’t have any other option, so she follows it.

She runs through weaving and twisting passages, deeper and deeper. She feels no hesitation in picking a path at crossroads, and she doesn’t once encounter the need to double back, to reconsider her direction. She  _ knows _ where to go. In any other circumstance, that would’ve concerned her. Now, she doesn’t care. She has to find him.

And she does find someone, at the heart of it all. Her lungs gasping for air as she runs into an open, circular space, surrounded by cells and the dim glow of torchlight. There’s a tower in the center, made of rusted metal that is covered with darkened splotches, maybe blood. The buzz in the back of her head, crescendoing as she walked through the tunnels, fades all at once. 

And Elias Bouchard, ever so unruffled, stands calmly beside the tower, next to an old and rotting corpse.

“Sasha,” he says, pleasant. “I was almost worried. You found your way—”

“Shut up.” Sasha grips the gun tighter, and Elias glances at it, his expression unchanging. She takes a deep breath, trying not to look at the corpse. The eyes have been gouged out, but its gaze, on Elias’ face, is still intensely pinned on her. “Where’s Tim? And Peter?”

Elias clicks his tongue. “You’re not going to ask any other questions? How you got here so easily? What this place is? Or perhaps whose dead body is here at my feet?”

“The panopticon,” she blurts out before she can control herself, the answer leaping to her tongue. “And that’s your body.” 

The smile that spreads across Elias’ face makes her want to throw up.  _ “My, _ you have grown. A masterpiece, isn’t it? This place, I mean. And, well…” He glances at the corpse, nonchalant. “That’s not my body anymore. Although if you harmed it, it wouldn’t go well for me. Or any of your friends, for that matter.”

Sasha feels anger crackle inside her. She raises the gun stiffly at Elias, who still stares back calmly. “And if I harm your current body?”

Elias just chuckles, infuriating. “You can’t kill me, Sasha.”

She glares at him. “It’s tempting.”

“You know what’ll happen,” Elias says, and he sounds disappointed in her. “I’m sure you’d want a few hours to mull over if that revenge is worth it. But for Tim, time is very much of the essence.”

Sasha sucks in a breath. She lowers the gun, despite herself. Her hands are trembling so badly she doubts she could get a good shot in, anyway.  _ “Where is he?” _

Elias smiles again, like they’re sharing an inside joke. “Peter Lukas has cast him into the Lonely, and with every passing moment he gets further away from you.”

She grits her teeth. He’s trying to provoke her. “How do I bring him back?”

“From out here?” Elias shakes his head. “Impossible.” 

Her heart drops in her chest. She looks around at the empty panopticon. No signs of Peter or Tim. But… “So, what? You want me to follow him into the Lonely?” 

“No, Sasha,” he says, almost patiently, like he’s talking to a young child.  _ “You _ want to follow him. I simply want you to know that if you do so, you are almost certainly not coming back. To go into the Lonely willingly is as good as death.”

He’s playing his games, again. Trying to make her doubt her choices. But she doesn’t care. “Tell me how to do it.” 

Elias doesn’t look at all surprised by her response. The intrigue on his face makes her blood boil. “You know, Sasha. You weren’t my first choice of Archivist. But you’ve proven yourself to be quite useful all the same.” 

“Hurry up and tell me,” she snaps, static hissing in her voice. Elias’ grin just widens, unperturbed. 

“Wasn’t too long ago,” he says, after a moment. “And I’m sure traces of their passage still remain. Just open your mind. Drink it all in. Know their route, and simply…” He exhales and tilts his head. “...follow it.”

Sasha breathes in, shaky, and tries to focus. She closes her eyes and reaches out, feeling the room with the fringes of her mind. Something begins to hum, a soft thrum that builds and wraps around her like a shroud.

_ “Very  _ good,” Elias says, pleased, his voice still clear despite the static crackling in her ears. “Are you scared, Sasha?”

He’s still doing it, the manipulative,  _ triumphant _ tone in his voice. She lets out a breath, hand curling around the gun, though the cold metal on her skin feels far away.

God. Elias may not be the sole reason for everything that’s happened. But he  _ knew  _ things, and purposely kept them from her. He let her stumble and fail and get people killed, for some end goal that they still don’t know about. And he’s been doing it for decades, in different bodies, with different names. 

Martin’s silent disappearance, Jon’s death in the Unknowing, her own transformation into an Avatar, Tim turning to the Lonely...all because Elias—no,  _ Jonah Magnus _ wouldn’t let them go. All because he wouldn’t tell them anything, tying them to the Beholding in a way he’s been bound for years, trapping them in the Institute to serve a god that craves and creates fear. 

The anger in her rises, as the static begins to fade. Sasha opens her eyes to see that she’s still in front of the panopticon, Jonah watching her intently. The amused expression on his face is falling as he realizes that she’s stopped, for some reason.

The feeling in her limbs is returning, the weight in her right hand pressing against her palm. She turns to him.

_ Are you scared, Sasha? _

“Yes,” she says, “but not of you.” 

She raises the gun at Elias Bouchard’s body, her hand still in this one brief moment, and fires.

_ Bang! _

Sasha feels a sickening twitch in her mind, like a thread connected to the base of her skull has been yanked, hard. She staggers, gasping for air, but manages to stay upright.

The bullet dug into Jonah’s left leg, and he’s much worse than her—hissing in pain, blood trickling down his leg as he falls to the ground. His eyes look up to meet Sasha’s, briefly, and the rage in his eyes  _ finally _ breaks his ever-tranquil facade.

The ache buzzing in the back of her mind is worth it, for this one fleeting moment of revenge. Jonah won’t die from that wound, but it’ll hurt like hell. Tim would be proud, if he were here.

Right.  _ Tim. _

Sasha closes her eyes again and reaches out, letting the static rise again. Jonah is saying something, furious, but she blocks him out, along with the aching thrum that shudders in her head. She pulls in the residual murmur of the Lonely, and listens.

The route is there, outlined in traces of cold and silence, humming with a strange frequency. She embraces it, drinking it all in as she searches for the way to Tim. The passage into the Lonely.

She doesn’t know how much time passes, her eyes squeezed shut as the static swirls around her, but then there’s a cold feeling in her gut, sudden, and she opens her eyes to see a muted, dull landscape in front of her. Surprised, she almost stumbles, but catches herself.

She takes a deep breath, grounding herself, and assesses her surroundings. The fog makes it hard to see anything past a few meters in any direction, but she seems to be standing on some sort of sand, though the color is pale, like it’s been doused in bleach. At her feet, gentle waves seem to be lapping at the shore, the water a sickly white as well. The fog is cold and heavy, making her skin tingle uncomfortably. 

She’s still holding the gun, somehow, though she doubts it’ll be of much use. She takes a deep breath, gripping it tighter. She doesn’t know where to go, here. The fog obscures her sight, and the squealing static around her makes it hard to think.

“Tim!” she shouts, her voice pathetically small in the vast, thrumming mist. She walks forward, along the shoreline.  _ “Tim! _ Tim, where are—”

“He doesn’t want to see you.”

Sasha whirls around, lifting her gun, but there’s nothing behind her except more fog. Peter’s voice is quiet, distorted, sounding like he’s both far away and right next to her at the same time. “Where are you?”

“I’m not here, Archivist. No one is.” His words echo strangely, like it’s several other identical voices speaking at the same time. “It’s only you.”

Sasha isn’t in the mood for more cryptic talk. “Can this  _ no one _ answer some questions, then?”

“You’ve still got time, Archivist.” Peter’s voice floats around her, and she turns slowly in a circle, eyeing her surroundings. Her steps don’t leave footprints in the sand-like ground, she notices. “Turn around and leave. You played your part. Now go.”

Sasha scowls. “And what makes you think I’ll listen to you?” She walks onward, cupping her hand around her mouth as her eyes search the haze. “Tim! Tim!”

“It’s odd, really,” Peter murmurs. Sasha almost feels like his voice is following her, through the infinite fog. “You each think you’re so focused on the other, but how much do you really know each other now? You’re not the person you used to be, Archivist. Elias changed you. And Tim…” A sigh drifts over her. “You can’t blame me entirely for that. How much time have you spent with him, really, after they found Gertrude’s body in the tunnels? And after you all discovered your dear friend Martin has been dead, this whole time? How do you know Tim is the person he used to be?”

Sasha inhales. Guilt wells up in her throat, but she grips the gun tighter and shoves away those memories, of late and lonely nights holed up in her office or on the run. Not understanding how bad it was until Tim began doing the same thing, after her and Jon’s deaths in the Unknowing.

Peter is just trying to provoke her, like Jonah was. “If I don’t know, do  _ you?” _

Peter huffs, amused. “Perhaps, Archivist. Perhaps I’m the only one who gets to see the real him.”

His wording rings a bell in her mind. She glares into the fog. “Shut—”

“Just what are you seeking, then?” he continues, talking over her. “The image you created of him years ago? The people you think you love don’t exist. Not anymore, at least. And that’s a very lonely place to be.”

Sasha scowls. “Shut.  _ Up.”  _ She quickens her pace, looking around the pale landscape.  _ “Tim!” _

“He doesn’t. Want. To  _ see _ you,” Peter says, smug, and she really wishes he were tangible enough so that she could shoot him. Her life isn’t tied to his, after all.

“Last I checked  _ you _ didn’t speak for him,” she snaps. She looks around. “Tim! Tim, where are you?”

“Just go,” Peter says, and there’s a slight crack in his mocking tone, almost like...annoyance. And the smallest bit of unease.

“Then make me,” she shoots back. Then a thought occurs to her. She pauses, lowers the gun. “Unless you can’t. Is that what it is?”

She waits for a response. There is none. She almost laughs, at the silence. Even the static has faintly died down. 

“You have to  _ know _ you’re alone to truly feel lonely,” she continues. “So you can’t get rid of me, and you know I’m going to find Tim eventually. I can even find you.” 

Still not a sound from Peter. The fog lightens, feeling less heavy on her skin. Sasha snorts, adjusting her grip on the gun, and keeps walking.  _ Thought so. _

The sand quietly crunches underfoot as she trudges onward, peering through the thick mist. It’s a blanket of whites and grays around her vision. Frustrated, she cups her hand over her mouth again. “Tim!  _ Tim—” _

There, a few meters down the shoreline. A still figure, standing next to the gentle waves. Sasha’s heart stops.

“Tim!” she calls, darting forward. The figure doesn’t turn around, but she runs to them and looks at their face and—it’s definitely Tim. He looks unhurt, but... _ faded.  _ His skin and hair and clothing are dull, pale shades of their normal colors, and his eyes, gray and muted, barely focus on her as she stands in front of him. 

“Sasha?” Tim whispers. He sounds exhausted, and his voice echoes in the same way Peter’s did, sounding far away even though he’s right there next to her. 

“Y-yes!” Relief rushes through her veins. “I-I’m here. I came for you.” She reaches out to take Tim’s hand, but her fingers pass straight through him like he’s just an illusion. A ghost. She pulls back quickly, aghast. “W-what did Peter do?” 

“It’s this place. This...” Tim trails off. He blinks, his movements slow. “Are you really her?”

“T-the one and only Sasha James, yes,” she says, trying to keep her voice light, but her heart is in her throat. “I’m real, Tim. I’m  _ here.” _

“Why did you follow me?” he asks. His voice slips in and out of clarity, wavering. Like he might disappear at any moment.

She can’t let that happen. “To bring you back. I thought…” She swallows, shaky. “I thought you might be lost.”

Tim turns his head slightly, away from her. “You shouldn’t have.” Sasha sees his lips move, soundless, before he continues, “I...I’m not leaving.”

His words are a punch to the gut. Sasha stares, horrified. “What? No, we have to get out of here.” She tries to touch him again, but the same thing happens. He’s not tangible. He’s not  _ here. _

“But it feels right,” Tim says softly. “This place...”

Fear tightens in her chest. She moves to meet his gaze again. “Tim, don’t—” She takes a deep breath. “No. Peter must’ve done something to you.”

Tim blinks calmly, but his eyes are already losing focus. “Does it matter?”

“Tim Stoker,” she says, desperate. She tries to instil some strength into her voice, some  _ pull, _ but her words feel weak, wavering with the worry that expands inside her. “You know this isn’t right. And I know this isn’t  _ you.” _

Tim laughs, bitter, but the sound is softer and further away than before, even though he hasn’t moved. “Do you, though?” Sasha makes a noise of hurt, despite herself, taking a stumbling step back as he continues, still quiet, “Maybe you never got to see the real me.”

“Don’t say that,” Sasha says, thickly. The conversation, just after she became Head Archivist years ago, floats around in her head. “Tim...”

“I want to stay,” Tim murmurs quietly. “Nothing hurts here. I don’t have to miss anyone. I don’t have to miss you.”

Sasha inhales shakily, feeling something break inside her. The guilt is there again, strong, but—no. She can’t break down about it, now. “You don’t—Tim—”

He laughs again, barely audible, or it might be a sob. “I really loved you, you know?”

That hurts more, almost. She sucks in a breath and stares at him, the resignation and despair that curls tight in a ball around them.  _ God.  _ She spent a year pushing him and Jon away, to protect them from whoever or whatever killed Gertrude, not realizing that they could  _ help  _ her as fear curled around the edges of her mind. But when she was finally desperate to open up, Jon was dead. Martin had been for two years. And Tim…

He had his reasons to turn to the Lonely. To shut her out. And she thinks she understands, now. What this was all for.

She swallows, taking a step forward again. “Tim, I…” She reaches out with her hand. “Tim, Peter’s done something to mess with you. He—”

But as soon as her hand makes contact with Tim’s shoulder, he disappears, dissipating into the fog with a slight wind. She jerks her hand back, but it’s too late. He’s gone.

“Shit,” she swears, looking around wildly. “Tim!”

The fog thickens around her suddenly, worse than before, clouding more of her vision as she begins to run. She almost trips a few times, but manages to keep her balance. Panic builds in her chest, and she clutches tighter at the gun she almost forgot she was holding.

“Tim! Where did you—”

“I tried to tell you.” Peter’s voice is back, drifting around her, and it takes all of Sasha’s self-restraint not to turn and fire in the general direction she thinks it’s coming from. She would guess wrong, anyway. “He’s gone. He made his choice. And it wasn’t you.”

It was  _ for _ her, though. She slows into a stop, anger boiling inside her. “Bring him back.”

“He can go where he pleases. He just doesn’t want to be near you.” The fog is so thick she can barely see her hands in front of her. “If the only real you is the actions you take, Archivist, what do you think that means?”

That he did this to save her. That he drifted away to protect her, like she had done for him, before.  _ “Stop it.” _

“Then  _ make me,”  _ Peter says, mocking. “Unless you can’t? Did you really think you could find me? What can you do alone, without your friends? The friends you got killed, or left you?”

“I didn’t—”

“Where are they, then?” 

Sasha feels a breeze on her skin, like an exhale but cold enough that it stings. She doesn’t respond.

“You’re alone, Archivist.” Peter’s voice softens, almost sympathetic. “The last one standing. I did warn you. I did want you to leave, but…” He sighs. “But perhaps it would be better if you stayed a while. After all, you can’t hurt anyone in here. You can even forget that it was all your fault.”

_ No, _ Sasha wants to snap.  _ No, it’s yours. It’s Jonah Magnus’. _ Elias didn’t tell them about Martin until they’d spent a year with his imposter. Jon chose his own way out, in the end, to escape him. Peter arrived at the Institute and pulled Tim into his games, away from her, until he let himself become lost here in the Lonely, to make sure she didn’t suffer the same fate. But she followed him anyway. 

Maybe Sasha could’ve done something, back then, but there’s no use in thinking about that now. Martin and Jon are dead. Daisy and Basira might be, out there with the Not-Them and the Hunters. Georgie and Melanie have left her, and Tim...she doesn’t know if she can reach him.

“Yes,” Peter says like he’s read her mind, his voice echoing around her. “There is no one here for you, Archivist.”

Sasha shudders, closing her eyes. She lets her hand loosen, and the gun falls to the ground, soundless, as the static hums around her almost gleefully. The fog swirls, freezing her skin to the touch, billowing in the endless atmosphere through mist and sand and sea.

There is no one else here.

She’s alone. Utterly alone. 

...until she isn’t.

_ There. _ In the periphery of her mind, a movement, a feeling, a presence materializing from the fog, a thing of silence and cold and fear. Ready to claim another victim and feed the numbing haze that calls itself the Lonely. 

She can  _ see _ him, as he approaches, the squealing static encircling him. She knows where he is.

He drifts towards her, the cold whistling in the air with a sharp hum. 

And Sasha opens her eyes. 

_ “Peter Lukas,”  _ she says, hardening her voice until it  _ pulls, _ “Tell me why you’re here.”

He stops, but it’s too late. She can sense him even through the thick fog. 

The confusion is palpable in his voice as he speaks, slow, “...what?”

“I can find you wherever you go,” Sasha says sharply. “So don’t bother trying to leave. Now tell me. Why are you here? Why did you take over the Institute?”

A pause. Then Peter laughs, a short bark of disbelief. The barest outline of a silhouette appears in the mist, far away, but his voice is closer than it was before. “I don’t have to tell you.”

“No,” Sasha says. “But you will.” She takes a deep breath, feeling her own familiar static, the call of the Beholding, crackle in the air.  _ “Why did you take over the Institute?”  _

“I won’t—” Peter makes a pained noise, groaning, and his silhouette disappears again. But she can still track him, sense him. She pushes harder.  _ “I’m not going to—” _

She curls her hands into fists and forces all of her strength into her words.  _ “Tell me.” _

He growls, and she takes a step in his direction. Then another. She lets the static buzz in the air, heavy on his tongue, and she almost takes the time to appreciate how the tables have turned, a grim satisfaction.

“Ah— _ fine!” _ Peter spits out, finally, and she stops. She can see him better, now, his shoulders hunched in pain and his expression twisted into irritation. The words spill out of him with a satisfied hum from the Eye. “Fine, I’ll tell you. It was a wager with Elias. I convince one of his staff to pledge themselves to the Lonely, and I get all of it. The Institute, the panopticon, and a willing vessel. He knew I couldn’t resist it. And he was right.” He snorts, bitter. “But I underestimated Tim. And I wanted to keep you here to rip his victory away, but I suppose I underestimated you, too.” 

“You did,” Sasha says stiffly, as anger smolders in her chest. 

It really was a game to them, the lives of her and her friends. All for some prizes and power.

“What about Elias?” she bites out. “What did he get if you lost?”

Peter scoffs. “Oh, he got you.” His voice is indifferent, but his words make her freeze.

_ What? _

She stares at Peter, confused, but he doesn’t follow up, letting the buzz of static fill the silence. She...doesn’t understand. It definitely doesn’t sound  _ good. _

“What does that—” She narrows her eyes. “What does that  _ mean?” _

But Peter is shaking his head, taking a step away from her. “Figure that one out yourself. I’m done.”

Fury crackles in her chest, piercing through the bewilderment. He’s not getting off that easy. “Tell me.”

“I’m…” Peter winces, through gritted teeth. She keeps her eyes pinned on him. “I’m  _ not... _ saying...another...word.”

Sasha glares. If Jonah Magnus has more plans for her, she needs to know. 

_ “Tell me,” _ she hisses, stalking forward, “or I will  _ rip _ it out of you.”

She can see Peter’s eyes, now, a blue as pale as the Lonely landscape around them, but etched with pain that deepens with the force of her words. He staggers away from her.  _ “No.” _

Sasha clenches her jaw. Her legs are shaking beneath her, but she pushes on, raising her voice into a violent crescendo.  _ “Answer me.”  _

The mist begins to swirl around them wildly, like a hurricane. She doesn’t relent. 

Peter growls, strained.  _ “No—” _

_ “Answer. Me. Now.”  _

_ “No!” _ he roars over the wind, but she just strengthens the thrum of her compulsion, tearing through the air, vicious and prying as he cowers and bellows in pain,  _ “Leave—me—ALO—” _

Static screeches, rising and echoing and ricocheting in the muffled fog. Peter buckles in front of her and begins to scream.

His body flickers in and out of the white haze as it pulses and buzzes shrilly around them. Sasha grits her teeth, digging, reaching and  _ pulling _ the words from his throat—

But he doesn’t get to say them.

The thrum mounts into a climax, unbearable, and the fog thickens and parts all at once, shuddering like ripples in water as the gale whistles, pushing back against her.

It hurts. It’s too much. Sasha stumbles back, head throbbing with pain, and lets go of the compulsion.

But the damage is done. The presence that was once before her is fading into dust, into a nothingness carried away by the wind. His scream is torn into wisps of static in the air, drifting as it dissolves and becomes one with the Lonely around her.

When the mist finally settles down, Peter Lukas is gone.

Sasha pants, trying to even her breathing as she stares at the space he used to be in.

Stubborn fool. He should’ve known what was coming.

She tries to regain her bearings, taking a few steps in the direction she thought she came from. It seems to work, somehow, as she spots the gun on her ground. She stoops down to pick it up, careful not to touch the sand.

Peter didn’t get to clarify what he meant, and Sasha’s certainly not getting an answer from Jonah. But she has other things to worry about right now. 

A brief sting pricks in the corner of her mind, on cue, tugging her gently. She turns around, and her heart jumps in her chest.

Tim is standing a few paces away, near the water. He’s motionless, facing slightly away from her. She rushes over immediately, and he turns his head in her direction as she approaches. 

“Tim,” she blurts out, almost touching him, but then she freezes, remembering what happened before. She lets her hand hover a few centimeters from his arm, instead. “Tim. He’s gone. Peter—”

“His only wish was to die alone,” Tim says, his voice barely audible even as it echoes. He looks at her, eyes still hazy. “But we can’t all get what we want, right?”

His tone is dampened by the fog, like a dull knife. Sasha swallows. “Tim, listen to me.”

His lips move, almost soundless, in the shape of her name. “Sasha.”

“Listen,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. “You think you want to be here. You think it’s safer, but…”

Tim blinks, his eyes half-lidded. “It is.”

Sasha exhales. She can’t deny that. “Okay, it is. But you can’t stay here forever. Alone. It’s…” She takes a deep breath. “Just—we need you.  _ I _ need you.”

Tim looks away. “No, you don’t.” His voice is distant, almost detached, but it still hurts. “You didn’t before. You survived—”

“But I don’t want to just  _ survive _ anymore,” she cuts in, her heart racing. “I know you don’t, either. You said you don’t want to miss me, and you don’t  _ have _ to.” She ducks her head to meet his gaze. “I’m here.”

Tim just laughs, breathless, but it sounds close to tears. “Are you?” He looks back at her, his eyes hazy. “Is it the real you?”

Sasha feels a lump in her throat.  _ “Tim.” _

His expression doesn’t change. “You weren’t always here.” 

“I am now,” she says, and she means it. She tries to keep her voice level. Sincere. “I need you to be, too.”

Tim trembles. “I...I’m sorry.” His words echo in the haze, overlapping, and Sasha feels fear spike in her chest. She  _ has  _ to bring him back.

“Tim,” she says, desperate.  _ “Tim.”  _ She stares into his eyes, the clouded irises that match the fog around them, and pushes as much strength as she can into her voice—not in the piercing, vicious way she did with Peter Lukas, but in a steady, warm hum that slowly lifts the veil and peels back the layers. “Look at me. Look at me and  _ tell me what you see.” _

Tim shudders, the mist curling around his skin. “I see…” He trails off, tilting his head, and inhales. All at once the echoes of his voice wane.

Sasha holds her breath as he blinks, slow. She watches him, and realizes with a start that his irises are melting back into a warm rich brown, the fog lifting from his gaze. Her heart jumps. 

Tim’s lips are twitching faintly, recognition flickering in his eyes. “I see you, Sasha.” A stunned smile curls at the corners of his mouth, and he shakes his head slightly, like he can’t believe his eyes. “I  _ see  _ you.”

He’s looking at her, really  _ looking _ at her, and color is returning to his skin, the paleness of the Lonely seeping out of him. Sasha’s heart leaps in her chest. “Tim!”

“Sasha,” he breathes. His gaze drifts downward, slow. “W-why are you holding a gun?”

Sasha half-laughs, half-sobs, and throws her arms around him. He’s solid, finally. Tangible and warm as she clings to him. He’s shaking, his breathing ragged as he hugs her. 

“I’m here,” she says, fierce. “Tim, I’m here. A-are you alright?”

“I…” Tim exhales, trembling, but his voice is stronger than before, more grounded. “I-I think so. You didn’t answer my question. Should I be concerned?”

Sasha huffs, fond. She leans back, keeping a hand on his arm as she clutches the gun with her other. “Basira gave it to me before I went to find you. Just in case.”

“Since when did you—” Tim cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Right. I wouldn’t know.”

Sasha’s heart pangs in her chest. “Tim. It’s...it’s alright.”

“N-no, it’s just...” Tim breathes out. He presses against her touch. “I’ve been alone. Christ.” 

“Not anymore.” Sasha squeezes his arm, reassuring. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

“‘Home?’” Tim echoes. His voice is still shaky, but he tilts his head and smiles at her, the corners of his lips lifting slightly. “Don’t you have to take me out to dinner, first?”

Sasha laughs, relief bubbling up inside her. This is  _ her _ Tim. She takes his hand, weaving their fingers together as the warmth sends tingles up her arm. “I think we might be past that.”

“That’s...that’s fair.” Tim chuckles, quiet.  _ God, _ it’s so lovely to hear his normal voice again. “But seriously...how? This place—”

“Don’t worry.” Sasha glances at the fog. It’s dissipated substantially, and there’s still a familiar hum, in the back of her head. If she reaches far enough, she can sense it—a path out of the Lonely, back into a world they belong in, hand-in-hand.

She looks back at Tim, who’s staring at her, his gaze soft. The last of the Lonely has leached out of him, save for a few white streaks that linger in his dark hair. His hand is warm, in hers, and his presence chases away the residual chill that lingers in the air. He’s  _ here. _

It’s a wonderful thing, Sasha thinks, to know you’re not alone. “I know the way.” 

  
  
  


“Are we safe here?” Tim asks days later, after they’ve arrived at Daisy’s safehouse in Scotland. He’s sitting on top of the island in the kitchen as Sasha makes coffee. “I don’t exactly feel safe in cabins.”

Sasha glances over at him. Tim is wearing yesterday’s clothes, and his hair is rumpled in a bizarre mess. Their suitcases are still unpacked, sitting in the cabin’s one bedroom because  _ apparently _ Basira couldn’t find a safehouse with separate sleeping areas. 

She finds she doesn’t really mind either of those things, though. “Why not?”

Tim shrugs. “Cabins are just inherently spooky. There’s  _ always _ serial killer or horror documentaries about some poor schmucks who decide to have a nice little vacation in a cozy little cabin—” Sasha snorts, without really thinking, and Tim makes an offended noise. “Hey! I’m just saying.”

“Well…” She huffs. “We  _ are _ on the run from vampire hunters and eldritch horrors, I suppose.”

“See what I mean?” Tim exclaims, leaning forward as he rests his chin on his hand, watching her. There’s a small smile on his lips, and Sasha is struck with the realization of how much she’s missed this. “So are we safe?”

She thinks about it for a moment, turning back to the coffee pot. “The police won’t be able to find us. Hopefully the Hunters and the Not-Them won’t, either.”

“And Daisy?” 

Sasha pauses. Basira had told her what happened. “...we’ll know she’s alive, at least.”

Tim huffs. “Reassuring.” 

“It’s the best Basira could do on a short notice. Be nice.” She glances back at Tim and gives him a look. “Also, don’t just sit there and stare at me. Check if there’s any mugs in the cupboards.”

“What, I can’t just enjoy the view?” Tim says, grinning. Sasha rolls her eyes and flings a coffee filter at him. “Hey! Alright, alright!”

He hops off the counter and heads over, reaching for the cabinets overhead. Sasha returns her attention to the coffee pot, trying to hide her smile. She feels...light. Relieved. It’s nice to not be terribly worried about immediate danger, for a change. 

“What about Elias?” Tim asks after a moment, and she sucks in a breath. Right. Jonah Magnus. She really doesn’t want to think about him, but...

“He can probably find us,” she says reluctantly. “But that’s a given anywhere.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Tim make a face. “Of course.” A beat. Tim opens another cupboard. “Did you really shoot him?” 

“Huh?” Sasha blinks. Right. She’d almost forgotten about that, somehow, in the midst of everything else that happened. “Yeah. In the panopticon. He was  _ pissed.” _ She feels a small spark of pride. Still  _ very _ worth it. 

_ “Nice.”  _ Tim laughs. “Oh, I would’ve paid good money to see his face.” He reaches into the cabinet and pulls out two white mugs. “Who knew Sasha James was such a gunslinger?”

Sasha snorts. “Not really. He got away.” 

“Still pretty badass,” he says, heading to the sink. “Next time we’ll figure out a way to kill him. Maybe burn down the Institute, while we’re at it.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Sasha says wryly. The coffee is done, so as soon as Tim dries the mugs, she pours some for both of them. Tim takes his mug and hops up on the island again. Sasha stands next to him, leaning against the counter. 

“How long do you think we have to be here?” Tim asks as she takes her first sip. 

Sasha lowers her mug, thinking. “I don’t know. Basira is taking care of things at the Institute. She said she’ll keep in touch.”

“So, what?” Tim raises an eyebrow. “We’re on vacation until someone inevitably finds us and tries to kill us?” 

Sasha huffs. “Basically. But…” She lets out a breath. “I think we’ll be fine.” Her heart hums, contented, in her chest. “I have you, after all.”

Tim freezes briefly, mug lifted halfway to his lips. Then he lowers his hand, a grin spreading on his face as he glances at her. “Damn right you do.”

Sasha laughs. She reaches for his hand, tangling their fingers together, and he leans slightly to bump his hip against her arm. His gaze is on her, a softness that makes her heart subconsciously jumps in her chest, and the smile on his face is warm and lovely and the things the Lonely was not. 

His words from then, echoing and quiet, come back to her.

_ I really loved you, you know?  _

She doesn’t need the Eye’s powers to know that he still does, looking at him. And as she meets his eyes and smiles back, she knows he doesn’t need them either to see that she loves him, too. 

“You know,” Tim says after a moment, glancing around the kitchen, “this isn’t exactly the heartwarming epilogue I was thinking about for us. But I’ll take it.”

Sasha laughs. She remembers that conversation, almost a lifetime ago. “What  _ were _ you thinking?”

Tim sets his mug down and tilts his head, pensive. “I don’t know, really. Not hiding from monsters and gods of fear, that’s for sure.”

Sasha snorts. “Well, hindsight is twenty-twenty, as they say.”

“I guess.” Tim glances at her, again, and reaches over with his free hand. He touches the white streaks in her hair, curling a few loose strands around his finger. “At least we match now.” 

Sasha’s heart skips a beat. She glances at the white fringes of Tim’s hair and exhales, feeling something warm unfurl in her chest. “Right.”

Tim smiles at her, picking up his mug again to drink. Sasha squeezes his hand, resting their entangled fingers on his leg, and takes a sip from her own mug, letting the warmth and intimacy curl around her. An autumn breeze filters in through the windows, the sun casting a glow on their intertwined hands.

Peter Lukas was wrong. The people Sasha thinks she loves do exist. And right now, one of them is right here with her. 

It’s not an epilogue, yet. They both know it, waiting in this cabin in the Scottish highlands as people and monsters alike try to hunt them down. They’re far away from any home they’ve ever known, but with some warm coffee in her mug, and Tim’s hand in hers, Sasha feels like she’s where she belongs.

Perhaps the world will end, weeks later, pulling them into a realm of voyeuristic terror and lonely companionship. Perhaps there is a chance that it will not. But if it does, at least she won’t be alone among it all.

Whatever happens, at least the two of them will still have each other. 


End file.
